Oh, Skye!
by erburnham02
Summary: Some drabbles (first one based on a Tumblr prompt) about the times when one of the team just didn't know what else to say to their youngest member. #3: Party in the Gym!
1. Joyriding in Lola!

"Skye?" said a voice from the doorway. "I feel rather strange."

"You're the doctor," Skye called back. Since the accent of the voice was British, it was safe to assume that the person speaking had at least one doctorate.

"I have a PhD, not an MD, silly," came the predictable answer.

Skye sighed and turned around. Jemma was standing there, hugging herself and looking worried.

"Is it love?" Skye asked rather hopefully. She totally shipped Fitzsimmons.

Jemma crinkled up her nose in disgust. _Eh, maybe one day_. "No! I think..."

"Yes?"

"I think..."

"_Yes_?"

"I think I want to rebel." Jemma smiled at her a little shaky. "Let's do something rebellious."

Skye squealed and jumped up. "Yeah!" Then she stopped short. "Like what?" she asked suspiciously. Jemma's idea of what constituted a rebellion was probably very different from Skye's.

"Well, we could... run races with the lab rats?" Jemma suggested.

Skye shook her head, and then her eyes lit up. "Hey! Let's go joyriding in Lola!"

Jemma clapped her hands to her mouth in horror.

"What the hell, Skye! Are you mental?" enquired Fitz from the doorway, and Skye gave a start. She hadn't even noticed he was there.

"Agent Coulson loves that car more than anything," Jemma said. "If we were to so much as scratch the bonnet, we could be demoted, even sacked."

"You said you wanted to rebel!" Skye protested.

Fitzsimmons looked at each other, clearly tempted.

"You do have a licence, don't you?" asked Fitz.

"Sure," Skye lied easily. Joyriding in a flying car! It would be so great! Wouldn't it?

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Jemma clung onto Fitz's arm as another strong gust of wind blew her hat off.

"I liked that cloche," she said mournfully as soon as she had got her breath back.

"I thought that was a lid you serve food under," said Fitz.

"Oh, you're always thinking about food," she snapped back.

Skye's knuckles were white as she clenched the steering wheel. "Where the hell's the reverse gear?" she yelled, and pushed the gearstick forward. Almost immediately they began to fall.

Fitzsimmons screamed and Skye buried her face in her arms, waiting for the crash.

It never came.

She cautiously raised her head and saw that they were hovering a few feet above ground level. She manoeuvred them down and landed gently.

Fitz opened the door and scrambled out, Jemma close behind.

"I thought I'd never get my feet back on terra firma again," Jemma gasped, and unbelievably began to laugh.

"I thought I'd lose you," Fitz told her.

"I thought I'd lose _you_," she replied, and suddenly kissed him full on the lips.

Skye watched with satisfaction, at least until she felt a prickling on the back of her neck and turned around.

Agent Coulson was standing there, in front of the Bus, which had been parked there a few minutes prior to Skye and Fitzsimmons' landing. He did not look happy.

"What have you to say for yourself?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Skye shrugged. "You know it was only a matter of time," she responded.

"What was?" he said angrily.

Skye just waved her hand at Fitzsimmons (still kissing), Lola and Jemma's precious hat which had come to rest in a hedge nearby.

Coulson shook his head in despair. "Oh, _Skye._"


	2. Not the Lab!

**Author's Note:** _A longer drabble this time! This story is going to be updated pretty regularly. Probably. Maybe._

Fitzsimmons had gone to some science-y convention, and the lab was still and empty. Moreover, Skye thought, there was no work to do. She was bored. And she planned to make this abundantly clear to every agent left on the plane...

"I'm bored," she said to May at the door of the cockpit, who deigned to turn around and give her a withering glance. Skye shrugged. She had gotten used to this.

"Any ideas about what I should do?"

"No," said May, with an air of finality.

Skye thought about pressing the matter, but decided she wouldn't risk it and left as quietly as she could.

"I'm bored," Skye announced to Ward, sitting down on one of his spare punch-bags in the gym.

"Why don't you join me?" asked Ward, wiping a few drops of sweat off his forehead as he took a break from punching the bag.

Skye stared at him in horror and fled. Ward sighed and continued punching.

Skye walked along the corridor to Coulson's office, not bothering to knock. Coulson stood there with an armful of paperwork.

"Skye, what did we say about knocking before we enter?" he chided gently.

Skye brushed that aside. "Never mind that. I'm bo-ored."

"Why don't you go and hack something?" he suggested wryly.

Skye's face lit up and she ran out.

"Not the Hub, not the Triskelion and not anything of any agents Level Seven or above!" he yelled after her. "_Especially_ May!"

Skye groaned. "No fair," she muttered, but she made sure Coulson was well out of earshot.

Skye spent the next few hours hacking into countless corner shops and motels, but it just didn't have the same appeal. Then she thought of something.

"Hm," she said to herself. "Agents Level Seven or above."

If Fitzsimmons had heard her, and seen her walk towards the lab with that expression on her face, they would have known immediately what she was thinking. (In fact, they would have thought it themselves several hours ago.) And they would have immediately banned her from the lab until further notice, which would probably mean 'forever'.

Skye set up her laptop on the lab table and put Fitz's iPad by it. Actually, she didn't even know if it was an iPad. It could be a FitzPad. In fact, judging by the amount of custom-made firewalls in place, it probably was.

She smiled wickedly and got to work.

In less than thirty minutes she had full control of the... somethingPad, and more importantly, of all the cool stuff it controlled.

She pressed a key on her laptop and one of the metal cases opened. She'd hit the jackpot – the DWARFs flew out and hovered to attention.

"Deploy DWARFs?" asked her laptop. "Y/N"

Skye smiled wider and pressed "Y".

"Drones Wirelessly Automated to Retrieve Forensics deployed."

The DWARFs started flying around the room, opening cupboards and searching through them. Within less than a minute she winced at the sound of breaking glass and turned to see a broken Petri dish on the floor and a DWARF holding something very, very icky in a small tray.

"Found: Fungus, not of this earth. Store? Y/N"

"N", she pressed frantically. That was apparently the wrong answer, as the DWARF dropped tray, fungus and all on the floor, and proceeded to redouble the intensity of its searching.

After that, it was pretty much carnage. The DWARFs flew into cupboards, chucked everything onto the floor and sorted through it to find anything vaguely squishy.

Skye pressed "ESC" a number of times, only to see another case open and a swarm of tiny metal droids pour out onto the floor.

"Deploy ANTs?" asked her laptop. "Y/N"

Skye took one look at the wreck of a lab behind her and decided it could only get better.

"Automated Nuclear Termites deployed."

"Automated Nuclear Termites?" Skye muttered, and then realised. "Oh, God. Automated _Nuclear_ Termites."

She dived to the floor as a huge explosion rocked the plane.

When it cleared, she looked up and saw Fitz and Simmons standing there. Drat.

"I cannot believe you just did that!" Fitz yelled. "You've wrecked Jemma's experiments and probably wrecked my machines too!"

Jemma just said, looking sorrowful, "Oh, _Skye_."

And that's why Skye is currently on lab-scrubbing duty until further notice. Which here means 'forever'.


	3. Party in the Gym!

Skye paused in her press-ups to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead.

"Keep going!" called Ward from where he was polishing what seemed like an entire armoury of guns.

"Oh, come _on_!" she groaned. "I was sweating! I have to stop before I ruin my hair."

"You're not stopping until you sweat properly, and that means more than just your forehead!" he retorted.

"Ew," said Skye, returning to her exercises. "Ew, ew, ew."

Ten, or twenty, or maybe fifty press-ups later (Skye had lost count) Ward was at last satisfied. "You can stop now," he said to her, and she immediately dropped down onto the mat.

"Thank God for that. I was just about to faint."

"You'll feel worse once our training session is over," he told her unsympathetically. "Wrap your hands and get to work on that punching bag."

Skye glared at said punching bag with all the hate she could muster in her fatigued state. "I hate you," she muttered. Ward wasn't entirely sure whether she meant him or the bag.

Skye wasn't sure either.

...

In the evening, after an hour with the punching bag and another hour on the treadmill, Skye was ready to drop. But she knew that she couldn't just let this lie. She had to find some method of revenge.

Skye might have been a high-school dropout, but she wasn't necessarily stupid. She could hack anything with an interface, and she had a superior sense of style (she prided herself on the fact that despite living in a van for two years her hair was _always_ perfect) – but what had proved really useful to her over the years was her way of innately understanding people. Some called it 'empathy', some called it 'ESP', but what Skye and most of her former teachers called it was 'being totally amazing at getting under people's skin'.

And to get under Ward's skin, she knew exactly what she had to do.

...

Skye poked her head around the lab door. "Party in the gym!" she shouted.

Fitz nearly dropped his spanner. "What, right now?"

"No, next Whitsunday," Skye said sarcastically. "Obviously right now. Get some snacks and I'll bring the drinks. I'd best do the music too."

"What's wrong with Vivaldi?" asked Jemma, but Skye had already left.

"Nothing is wrong with Vivaldi," muttered Fitz, "except that it's rubbish."

Jemma shook her head, not deigning to give a reply, and after a few minutes of searching found Fitz's secret snack reserve in the cupboard labelled 'Hazardous Chemicals'.

She raised her eyebrows.

"What?" her partner protested. "It was the best way to make sure Skye didn't get her mitts on them."

When they walked into the exercise room music was already blaring and Skye was sitting on the gym horse with a tray of shots. "Guys!" she shouted. "Get ready to part-ay!"

"Skye, are you drunk already?" enquired Jemma.

"No, but I'm gonna be," she grinned. "Our aim tonight is to get as drunk as possible and trash this place."

"I'll drink to that," Fitz replied, and knocked back a small glass of something pink and nasty-looking without a second thought.

...

A few hours later, Fitzsimmons and Skye were completely sozzled, and Skye had accomplished her aim; the gym was not only in a fine state of disarray but was covered with confetti (and nobody could quite remember why).

Ward walked in and took in the situation with one glance. Confetti all over his equipment, empty shot glasses on every surface, Fitzsimmons peacefully sleeping on the exercise mat and Skye grinning like a lion upon the pikes o' the hunters.*

For a few moments he was speechless, but when he had recovered enough to speak coherently, his only words were, "Oh, _Skye_."

*Cymbeline (Shakespeare)


End file.
